


You Care Far Too Much

by 3amcowboy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Darkspawn suck, M/M, Pre-Romance, The Deep Roads, Zevran has emotions and isn't sure what to do with them, hurt/comfort sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-09 19:04:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amcowboy/pseuds/3amcowboy
Summary: When Vin Mahariel takes a blow for Zevran, the assassin cannot help but be surprised.





	You Care Far Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> This is a test for my Mahariel, I haven't written him in a very long time! Elven translations given at the end :)

It is in a moment of overwhelming chaos in the Deep Roads: The constant threat of darkspawn, the claustrophobic caverns, and the concern over supplies weighed heavily over the four who had entered them. 

Alistair led anxiously beside Mahariel with Morrigan in the center and Zevran in the rear. The witch of the wilds had groaned at his joke about behinds as they headed out, but the elf saw how the two Wardens attempted to smirk back smiles.

They fought darkspawn every day, it seemed, so this should be no different. Alistair throttled the larger enemies, Vin finished them off; Zevran danced between the smaller creatures, and Morrigan weakened or destroyed them easily. It was a rhythmic performance that they had choreographed over a short time.

The hurlocks seemed to emerge from the cave walls themselves as they ambushed the group's temporary makeshift camp. Zevran rolled his eyes. 

"Must they always come?" He asked playfully, slicing the neck of one monster. "Do they not see the wreckage behind us?" Mahariel had laughed at that, his eyes wild with something like amusement. 

It was easy to be confident when the enemies never learned. Or, at least, they had not before. 

The reinforcements trickled in slowly at first. Two genlocks replaced a fallen hurlock, one of their mage kind appeared behind its fellows. But then the cleared area was overrun with five times as many grunts as were present in their party. 

"Lovely!" Mahariel shouted and Morrigan answered in kind, though Zevran did not hear her. He slipped his daggers into the skulls of two genlocks and tumbled beyond to get closer to Alistair. The elven warden fell back to gut a straggler that threatened their mage and then he disappeared again when Zevran focused back on his own actions. They made quick work through the storm and he even heard Alistair chuckle encouragingly. 

He cursed himself later for not seeing the hurlock sword that aimed for his chest.

Vin was a flash in battle, one moment terribly far and the next dreadfully close.

He choked. The blade sliced through Mahariel's light armor as if it were made of parchment, nearly hitting Zevran from how far it jutted through the Dalish elf's shoulder. He jumped back and Mahariel grunted, pulling himself off the weapon and crushing the darkspawn's skull with his dual knives. He didn't fall immediately but he sagged to the side and steeled himself to continue. Zevran could only blink in response as he turned to finish off a monster nearby.

It was not long until Morrigan expended her remaining mana to cast a tempest over the creatures and finishing them off took only a few blows from the three men. It was quiet like before and Zevran could sense the witch inhaling, likely to comment on the peace, but then Mahariel dropped to his knees beside Alistair.

" _Fenhedis_ ," he cursed breathily and, if Zevran had not seen the blow he'd taken, he might believe Vin was laughing from relief. " _Mana. Ma halani, lethallin_ –" He fell forward, gripping his blood stained shoulder, and Alistair immediately knelt on the ground and rested a hand on the other warden's forearm. Zevran was frozen in place as Morrigan trudged over with their small bag of supplies. It was strange how quickly the Dalish elf had paled in the moments since the battle ended, his vallaslin stark against his milky complexion.

Alistair mumbled something to Mahariel but the response received was a repetition of the old elven phrases, his dark eyes hidden behind tightly squeezed lids. The senior warden took the bag from Morrigan frantically and began digging through it. She seemed bored as she turned Mahariel's shoulder lightly to get a better look. Then she frowned. 

Zevran walked over quietly and bent down next to Alistair. 

It was strange to see Vin crumble so, but when he could finally see, it was obvious why. 

The stab wound was wide and the blade had twisted, curved haphazardly so the opening dipped down further into his chest. 

The Antivan swallowed anxiously.

Morrigan tore the fabric of his tunic then rested her hand against Mahariel softly and her magic hummed through him. He choked beneath her on, what Zevran realized in horror, was his own blood. Vin continued mumbling to himself, clinging desperately to consciousness.

Alistair glared at Morrigan and squeezed tightly on Vin's forearm. 

"I may not be your Circle mage but I can at least hold him together, fool." She rolled her eyes and the glow at her fingertips ceased. Zevran shook from his stupor and walked away, attempting to portray an illusion of calmness. Alistair pulled the other warden into his lap by his underarms and braced his neck with one of his gloved hands. 

The paleness was fading from Mahariel's flesh but his face was still split by a wince: one that Alistair matched. 

Setting up camp in the Deep Roads took an effort. Morrigan moved rocks strategically to block smaller tunnel openings, Zevran placed traps at the larger ones, and Alistair set up equipment while trying to, now, avoid hovering over Vin. The Antivan could not shake a feeling of dread and every time he glanced at the other elf he felt his entire body tense. Why? He wondered.

Morrigan has expended most of her mana and Alistair needed to rest his shield arm, so Zevran took the first watch. Since they'd gotten Mahariel to down a cannister of chunky soup they'd made back at their main camp, he'd drifted in and out of consciousness. The whole in his chest was haphazardly mended but he still needed more bandages and their poultice inventory was running low. After a few days, at most, they would need to return to Orzammar so stopping was simply postponing the inevitable. 

It was unnervingly quiet as he sharpened one of his knives. Time was hard to tell on the Roads, but the Antivan was accustomed to keeping track. After an hour and a quarter he heard someone stirring. It wasn't close to Alistair's watch yet so he was prepared to throw a blanket at the human's head but then he realized that was not the warden waking.

" _Dirthara-ma_ ," Vin groaned, pushing himself up against a rock behind him.

" _Braska_ , what are you doing?" Zevran dropped his blade and jumped over Morrigan to reach the warden.

His dark hair was falling out of his short ponytail so that the loose strands framed his vallaslin. Blood coated his clothes and the Antivan cursed himself for not offering more help before. He carried plenty of looted gear with him. When Vin's eyes finally focused on him, his pained expression faded and was replaced by a smile that could be outmatched by none the assassin had ever seen.

Zevran moved his hand to brace Mahariel's arm but faltered, anxiety hitting him as a pang through his chest. The Dalish elf fumbled with the blanket covering his legs then tried to sit up further before his bad arm gave out under his weight. Then Zevran did help.

" _Ma serannas_ , Zevran," he croaked, his vocal chords hoarse and dry. The Antivan reached into his pack nearby for a water-skin and Vin took it gratefully. Once he was done he smiled again. "Are you alright, lethallin?" 

Zevran raised his brows before releasing Mahariel's arm. He slid back against the rock with a soft thud. 

"Me?" He tried to stay quiet but when the warden's face fell he only grew more angry. "I am fine, but you're not!" Alistair kicked his leg out from under his blanket. Vin grabbed Zevran's wrist and widened his eyes in warning. He dropped his voice to a whisper, though his intense tone did not waver.

"You are a cruel friend, if that is what your word for me means, my warden." The other elf's cheeks flushed, but the color was reassurance of his health, at least. "You can't be so careless! There are very few Grey Wardens around if I am remembering correctly." Zevran gripped tighter. "I am indebted to you, it is not the other way around!" 

Mahariel grinned again, lopsided, and held Zevran's hand to his cheek. The lines of Dirthamen danced beneath the assassin's fingers when he opened his palm, gently caressing the Warden's scarred cheek, and Vin sighed shakily.

"You are welcome, _lethallin_." 

The flutter in Zevran's chest was unmistakable, but how could he have known?

**Author's Note:**

> !! Translations !!  
> (All definitions come from the Dragon Age Wiki)
> 
> Fenhedis = common curse  
> Lethallin = friend  
> Mana. Ma halani. = "Help me."  
> Dirthara-ma = "May you learn," used as an expletive/curse  
> Ma serannas = "Thank you"


End file.
